The Branded
by MilesTailsPrower-007
Summary: FE9. No one will listen, Soren thinks, not even him. [Soren and Rhys. No slash.] First FE fic. Be nice, please!


**Author's Note: **_This is a one-shot, which means it's a story that's only one chapter long. I wanted Rhys and Soren to be able to talk to each other on Path of Radiance, but Soren is a very antisocial unit, and so he won't talk to anyone but Ike or Stefan. So... I wrote this. :D  
_

_If you don't know about Soren's unpleasant backstory, you probably won't get it to the full extent, though. D:  
_

* * *

Soren sat, irritable, in the empty planning room, waiting for the priest to show up and fix his arm like he said he was going to at least twenty minutes ago. It was childish, per se, to be so miserable about waiting a mere twenty minutes, but Soren had other things to do. He intended to have a look at the map and plot a route through the mountain woods so they would come out behind the enemy, but the arm had been a bother, and he hadn't. 

So now he was waiting for the blasted priest, whose name he couldn't remember, whose services were obviously much too slow. As far as Soren was aware, he was the only one left that had an injury to be tended to, so there was little excuse now, and he intended to let the other fellow have it as soon as he set foot in that door.

Oh, the sarcasm would knock him flat.

But he was tired of waiting, so he got up and unrolled the large map on the tabletop anyway. His arm mutely protested. He had hardly set his quill down when the doors creaked open, and a man in his mid twenties wandered in. Just by the white robes and the typically passive expression on his face, Soren knew this was the priest. And honestly, what was his name again? He was about to straightforwardly insist that a slow priest was hardly going to be any use amongst the chaos and death of the battle field, but the fellow looked somewhat perplexed, and Soren held his tongue.

"I'm sorry I'm late," the man said in earnest apology. "I had to lie down for awhile."

Soren nodded curtly, and wasted no time getting to the point. "It's the right arm."

The other looked somewhat startled into focus again. "Oh! Right, of course." He pushed up Soren's dark sleeve to reveal a pale arm, bruised and cut. It had been hit by an ax-wielding idiot with little aim, but that was of no consequence. "It doesn't look too bad," he remarked, obviously in some attempt to lighten up Soren's perpetually sour mood.

"Of course not," Soren retorted.

"And what was your name again?" He offered a smile, although Soren was merely irritated that he was beating around the bush so much. "I'm awful that way. Can't keep track of anyone anymore, ever since we started getting so many in to help the cause and all."

"Soren."

"I'm Rhys."

"Rhys," Soren restated, for memory's sake. Rhys wasn't a terribly memorable character, in all honesty. "Well, you can get back to your original plan any time now."

"Sorry. Just trying to keep up morale."

_And doing an awful job of it_, Soren thought sourly, although he said nothing. _Now fix my arm._

Rhys began what he was intending to do in the first place, and Soren flinched, but not from the pain. A cold hand had just touched his bare skin. "Your hands are cold," he said bluntly.

"They always are, I'm afraid. I'm not very well most of the time."

_Well, that's nice. He's in charge of making us better, and he can't make himself better_, the mage decided sarcastically.

The priest's eyes closed in a serene concentration, and the gentle hand against Soren's skin felt warmer. He felt momentarily refreshed, as though splashed gently with ethereal water, and all the soreness he felt and the black and blue discoloration that had still been visible from beneath Rhys' hand vanished.

"Is that better?"

"Much. Thank you."

Rhys nodded warmly. "If you need anything else, it's what I'm here for."

Soren felt impulsive, if just momentarily so, as he could not remember the last time anyone had said anything of that sort to him. He had decided early on that few could be his friends, due to the nature of what he really was. But... the quiet serenity that practically glowed from this person made the vulnerable part of Soren want to plead for him to listen to all his woes and pray them away. Could someone like this do that for him..? Could this guy's divine connection to the holy really help him now?

_Nonsense_, Soren mentally snapped at himself. _No one can understand the pain, unless they themselves have felt it_

His face must have faltered, because Rhys paused to look at him. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No. Nothing."


End file.
